


Against all Better Judgement

by BeginToFray



Series: (Issues) We've got the kind of love it takes to solve them. [5]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeginToFray/pseuds/BeginToFray
Summary: Another story in the same universe as all my others, though this one is a bit longer so is split into chapters. Eve and Niko are getting a divorce but they want to do it civilly, which means going for dinner, which means Villanelle is bound to go full-Villanelle about things. Right?





	1. D.I.V.O.R.C.E

**Author's Note:**

> What's that? The whiff of a plot? Hardly. This was originally one scene in my head, then it became a whole one-shot and now it's three chapters. What can you do?
> 
> There is a bit of angst in this one that ramps up as the chapters progress, but don't worry it'll all be alright in the end.

 

 

“I don’t know why you bothered to buy me these pyjamas, you only take them off me straight away anyway.”

Eve was sitting on the edge of her bed applying nightly face cream and talking over her shoulder to Villanelle who reclined against the headboard on the other side of the bed. And she had a point. The pyjamas were a beautiful silk and they felt wonderful against her skin, but with Villanelle around they never stayed on long enough for her to enjoy them.

“I like buying you things.” came the response, as if that fact might be a surprise to Eve. “They suit you. And I like taking them off you straight away.” She finished with a smirk.

Eve laughed and grabbed a book from her nightstand before swinging her legs up onto the bed and settling beneath the sheets. She flicked through her book until she came across her bookmark, barely three chapters in. Villanelle leaned across, plucked the bookmark from Eve’s hand, tucked it back into its place in the book and then put the whole thing down on the nightstand on her side of the bed with a decisive snap.

“Oksana. I need to finish that by Thursday. I can’t keep going to book club without having read the book.”

“But wouldn’t you rather do something more… fun? You can read after.”

Eve laughed.

“I can’t read after because I always fall asleep after.”

Villanelle simply shrugged, thinly veiled pride plastered across her features.

“Sleep is very important, Eve. And so is an active sex life.”

“Yes, but people are starting to notice something different about me. Elena thinks I have a secret lover.”

“You _do_ have a secret lover.” Villanelle replied, edging her way to Eve’s side of the bed and throwing one leg over the older woman’s lap so that she was straddling her hips.

“Mmmm, I suppose I do.” Eve agreed, bringing her hands up to Villanelle’s waist and rubbing her thumbs back and forth until they slipped under the hem of the lacy camisole that Villanelle was wearing.

“Actually, what Elena said was that she thinks I have a secret sex pet.”

Villanelle threw her head back and laughed, the movement making her hips rock against Eve. Eve tried and failed to stifle a groan.

“Do you think of me as your secret sex pet, Eve?” There was a playful glint in Villanelle’s eyes that made Eve gulp, she had seen that glint before and she knew the kind of hour that usually followed it. She definitely wouldn’t be getting any further with that book tonight.

“No.” Eve shook her head, not taking her eyes off of the woman in her lap.

“No?” Villanelle mirrored the shaking of Eve’s head, “So what am I to you, Eve?”

“I… You’re my… We’re, uh… I don’t know...” Eve’s mind was spinning through a Rolodex of possible terms for Villanelle. _Girlfriend_? Maybe, but it seemed a bit… young. What kind of woman Eve’s age had a ‘girlfriend’? Was that an age appropriate term? What about partner? She had unmarried friends with partners. But those seemed like very serious, permanent relationships… Was this serious and permanent? It certainly felt serious. Deadly serious, you could say. And Villanelle did seem to live with her… But did that make it permanent? Could this secret life be sustained? Plus, could she have a partner if she was technically still married? She was getting a divorce. It had been decided a couple of days prior. She had agreed to meet Niko to discuss it. Shit. She still had to tell Villanelle that. She had been putting it off, but, whatever the status of their relationship, Villanelle did deserve to know that Eve was about to divorce her husband of 15 years.

“Eve!” Villanelle startled Eve from her thoughts. She leant down towards her, her mouth open slightly, those full lips parted, she brushed them once over Eve’s own mouth and whispered breathily, “What do you want me to be, hmm?”

“I’m getting a divorce!” Eve let out. _What?_ Why did she say that right now? How was this the right moment?

Villanelle, for once, looked a little bit thrown. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that and sat back slightly whilst remaining in Eve’s lap, but now hovering more over her lower thighs than her hips.

“OK… That’s good?” Villanelle offered a baffled look and an unsure smile.

“Yes. It’s good. I won’t be married anymore...” Eve trailed off.

“Is this your way of asking me to marry you, Eve? It is not a very romantic way to do it, you know.”

“What? No! Of course I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“Well, there is no need to hurt my feelings.” Villanelle stuck out her lower lip.

“Asshole.” Eve muttered, shifting as though to tip Villanelle off of her.

“Hey. I am joking.” Villanelle refused to be removed from on top of Eve, and placed her hand beneath Eve’s chin, lifting her gaze to meet her own.

“Are you OK?” Villanelle’s eyes flitted anxiously across Eve’s face.

“I’m fine. I just needed you to know that I am getting a divorce. I won’t be married to Niko anymore.”

“I have a strong enough grasp of the English language to know what a divorce means, Eve.” Villanelle snarked, though she was smiling fondly at the woman beneath her. Eve simply nodded.

“I am glad you won’t be married to that man anymore.” Villanelle whispered as she returned to her previous position and this time managed to kiss Eve before she blurted out any more unexpected information. The kiss deepened as Villanelle pushed one hand into Eve’s hair and the other to her neck. This was Villanelle on a mission, and her mouth worked determinedly against Eve’s, tempting the other woman’s tongue in to duel with her own before sucking on it and dragging a moan from Eve. Villanelle lifted herself up and pulled Eve against her, thrusting against her in time with her kisses.

“Divorces take a while though, there’s a lot to discuss,” Eve gasped against Villanelle’s mouth.

“Mmmhmm.”

“We have shared assets, Niko and I.” Eve ended with a groan as Villanelle shoved a hand up Eve’s pyjama top to seek out a breast to cup. Villanelle broke the kiss and looked directly into Eve’s eyes, panting lightly and flushed, while stroking a single finger in increasingly small circles around Eve’s pebbled nipple.

“Baby. Can we not talk about The Moustache while we are doing this?”

“Sorry. Right. Sorry.” Eve nodded frantically and then hoisted Villanelle’s top over her head before recapturing her lips.

 

 

 

Some time later, a bedraggled Eve appeared from under the sheets and threw herself onto her back against the pillows, breathing heavily. Next to her Villanelle was in a similar position, gasping for breath, a strand of hair stuck to the sweat that misted her forehead.

“You know, you wasted a lot of years not doing that.” Villanelle remarked.

Eve remained still, staring up at the ceiling and struggling to regain her breath.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I am glad I am the only one that gets to know how good you are at it.”

“That’s because you have an ego the size of Russia.” Eve chuckled.

“Well, you are very good at pleasuring women. And I taught you everything you know, so…”

Eve rolled over and leant up to give Villanelle a lingering kiss.

“I am glad you’re the only one I do this with too.”

Villanelle sighed and pulled Eve to her side, allowing Eve to rest her head on her shoulder, even if it was a bit sticky with sweat still. Villanelle gave a peck to the top of Eve’s head.

“Shall I pass you your book?” Villanelle asked, and Eve could hear the teasing smile lurking in her voice.

“Are all assassins as funny as you?” Eve rolled her eyes.

“Oh no, most of them are verrrry serious.” Villanelle elongated the Rs to emphasise her point and schooled her features into a grim expression, even though Eve couldn’t see her face from the position she was in.

“Right. I forgot, you’re one of a kind.”

“I am.” Villanelle nodded solemnly.

Eve shifted against her. Bringing up the divorce earlier hadn’t been her best move in terms of timing, but Villanelle had seemed to take it in her stride. Eve had left out one vital part though; the part that Villanelle was bound to take issue with. Villanelle was not subtle in her dislike of Niko, and the thought of Eve having dinner with him the following night was likely to awaken a part of the younger woman that was best kept placated. The dinner was purely to discuss divorce matters though. They were on good terms – possibly because Niko didn’t know she was now sharing their bed with the mysterious contract killer who caused their marital breakdown – they exchanged emails, mostly about boring admin matters, but they were civil. She owed him a dinner at least. It wasn’t a date; it was essentially divorce proceedings, without the solicitors in attendance.

Perhaps post-coital, when Villanelle was sated and at the cuddly kitten end of the feline scale, would be a good time to drop this dinner shaped bombshell. Eve often measured Villanelle in cats. From said warm, fluffy kitten, to full on tigress with a taste for blood. She wouldn’t tell Villanelle this of course. God knows what her reaction would be.

“Oksana,” Eve ventured nervously.

“Eve,” Villanelle mockingly matched Eve’s cautious tone.

“Tomorrow night, there’s something I need to do.”

“Are you going to murder a drug lord? Because that would really be stepping on my toes.” There were certain phrases that didn’t sit quite right in Villanelle’s accent, ones that Eve was surprised she had even bothered to learn. But Eve could puzzle over Villanelle’s linguistic choices another time.

“No Darling, I’ll leave that to you. It’s uh… it’s a dinner thing.”

“What is so scary about dinner? Oh God. You are not the one cooking are you?” Villanelle laughed at her own joke, luckily, because Eve did not.

“I can cook.”

Villanelle widened her eyes and nodded as if to say, ‘Sure you can…’

“I’m going for dinner with Niko.” Eve rushed the sentence out and then held her breath, figuratively plugging her ears and waiting for the explosion.

Sure enough the body against her own stiffened and the fingers that had been smoothing up and down Eve’s upper arm stopped still in their tracks. A couple of long moments passed and Eve was braced for an outburst that didn’t seem to be coming.

“Why would you do that?” Villanelle’s voice was quiet and held a tone that Eve hadn’t heard before. She sounded calm. But is a calm assassin a good thing? Eve wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“We have to sort out paperwork for the divorce. We have joint accounts, we both own this house, and there are things we need to reach an agreement on.”

“That has to be done in person? You don’t have solicitors?” The word ‘solicitors’ got tangled on Villanelle’s tongue, something that very rarely happened.

“No, we do. Of course. But we were married for 15 years, Oksana, we have a lot of history. We’re friends. We want to do this nicely.” Eve pulled herself into a sitting position. She couldn’t read the tone of her voice so she needed to be able to see Villanelle’s face.

“I see.”

Villanelle’s face, as it turned out, was giving nothing away either. She was expressionless, but she refused to meet Eve’s eye line. Eve had been dreading telling her this since the minute she agreed to the dinner. She had pictured smashed glass and screaming, harsh words and hurled objects, and in one particularly graphic imagining after one too many strong coffees, a knife had even made an appearance, this time in Villanelle’s hand. In none of those scenarios had she been faced with this quiet and composed Villanelle. It might be scarier than all of the other options combined.

Or perhaps she hadn’t given the younger woman enough credit. Perhaps she was confident enough in their relationship that Eve going for dinner with her not-quite-ex-husband wasn’t something to fuss about. Perhaps everything was fine. Perhaps—

“You should read your book. I am going to sleep now.”

Perhaps not.

Villanelle reached for Eve’s book on her nightstand and passed it to her, still not making eye contact, then turned her back to Eve. Eve watched silently as Villanelle pulled the sheets up to her shoulders and switched out the lamp on her side.

Eve was at a loss. She hadn’t met this Villanelle before. Was it anger or hurt that swirled in the air between them, taking up that empty expanse on the bed? They usually both occupied that space together, entwined in sleep or other activities; they didn’t hang off opposite sides of the bed like this. Should Eve push the subject further and try to find out how Villanelle was feeling? Probably not. Pushing Villanelle had never yielded positive results in the past; it was unlikely to start now.

So Eve read her book. She had no idea what happened in the two chapters she got through. Her eyes raked over the words but her brain took nothing in. It had been over half an hour and Villanelle was still awake, Eve knew she was. They had shared enough nights now that Eve could recognise the other woman’s breathing patterns. There was the heaving, relaxed sigh that usually signified the onset of sleep, and then her breathing would even out. She didn’t snore, but she wasn’t silent. Her breaths were audible, level and reassuring in the dark. Tonight the room was silent. Villanelle hadn’t moved, but she hadn’t fallen asleep either. She was tense and Eve could feel it radiating into the mattress beneath them, seeping in and saturating the atmosphere of the room.

Eve took off her reading glasses. Villanelle usually made a comment when she wore them. Eve had initially expected her to mock the glasses, but Villanelle had surprised her – she should really stop _expecting_ anything at all from Villanelle, she was a constant surprise. The reading glasses had provoked an entirely opposite response from Villanelle. She had practically pounced on Eve, shoving her paperwork to the ground, the first time she had stepped into Eve’s home office and seen her in the glasses. Eve still needed to replace that broken office chair.

Now however, the glasses were doing nothing to help her cause. She placed both book and glasses to the side and shuffled down in bed, watching the ricochet of her movement stiffly shake the outline of the woman next to her. She switched off her light and let the darkness consume them both.

“Goodnight Oksana.” Eve whispered.

There was no response. And Eve closed her eyes. Since the very first night that Villanelle had appeared on the doorstep and informed Eve that the two of them should be together, they had been together. Granted, that first night it was awkward when Eve discovered that the Russian killer soaked in bloodlust was also a clingy sleeper, but since then Eve found herself coming around to Villanelle’s way of doing things. Tonight Eve wrapped her arms around herself and it was not the same.


	2. D.I.N.N.E.R

In the morning Eve had zombied her way through her usual routine once her alarm went off at 6.45. There had been no grumbled threat of violence towards the blaring alarm. Villanelle had remained “asleep”. And, for a master of disguise and manipulator-extraordinaire, Eve thought The Twelve’s prized pony was doing a pretty shitty job of pretending to be asleep. But maybe that was the point. Eve got ready for work and gave herself the finishing spritz of _La Villanelle_ out of pure habit. Villanelle had rolled over while Eve was in the bathroom and now faced towards the middle of the bed. Some small hopeful part of Eve had thought maybe things would be better in the morning, like the old adage always insists. But evidently that saying wasn’t one that Villanelle had chosen to adopt. Maybe there hadn’t been a Russian equivalent. Maybe where Villanelle is from things never looked better in the morning so there was no point in telling one another they might. Eve hovered by the edge of the bed, ready to leave.

“I…” Eve started. What could she say? Nothing really. “Bye then.” She said quietly.

She didn’t expect a response and swiftly made her way to the door.

“Bye.”

Eve stopped and looked over her shoulder but Villanelle wasn’t looking her way, was still ensconced in the sheets and made no move to say anything else. Eve left. Hoping that the hoarse “Bye” wasn’t as final as it felt when it landed like a boulder in her stomach.  
  
  
  


That boulder had got heavier and heavier throughout the day as Eve coasted through meetings and ignored emails until it threatened to drop clean through her stomach and crash onto the floor below when she returned home to an empty house. The lights were off and the rooms were cold. The house hadn’t felt this void of life even after Niko had left. Somehow the lack of Villanelle in her space left Eve with a ringing in her ears that the absence of her husband never had. Niko. The dinner that had caused this mess. She was meeting him in forty minutes. Eve tried to shake the shroud of loneliness that the house was steeped in and rushed upstairs to change. A momentary surge of relief met her when she flung open the wardrobe doors to find that Villanelle’s clothes were still hanging orderly inside. But that relief receded when she remembered that there was probably still a wardrobe in Paris – two in fact – that housed yet more of the other woman’s clothes. Villanelle loved clothes, yes, but they were replaceable. She was accustomed to moving on and buying more, leaving a trail of discarded designer labels in her wake. Styles were always changing after all, none of Villanelle’s outfits stayed in circulation for long.

Eve changed out of her work attire, regained control of her hair, and tied it back. She was so used to wearing it down these days. She got a kick out of the way Villanelle adored it when it was loose. But tonight, at least until she could come home later, was not about Villanelle, so her hair would be tied back. Once she had survived the dinner, she could come home, let her hair down and set about the familiar task of tracking down Villanelle. It was a game she thought was finished and won, but apparently not.

  
  
 

The restaurant was one that Eve and Niko had been to many times throughout their marriage, and even frequented before they had exchanged their vows and promised to love each other forever. It was a dimly lit, intimate but welcoming kind of place and served wonderfully rich Italian food. Eve hadn’t set foot in this restaurant in almost a year, but it hadn’t changed, and when she spotted Niko at their usual table, it felt as though nothing at all had changed. It had, of course. Everything had.

“Eve, hi!”

Niko’s deep, confident voice complete with the barest hint of an accent met her ears as the man in question stood from his seat to welcome her. He was smiling broadly.

“Hey Niko,” Eve stepped into his outstretched arms as she reached the table. The familiar, homey smell of him invaded her senses but the firmness of his chest was so different to the softness of the embraces she was now becoming accustomed to. She let him kiss her on the cheek and the scratch of his coarse moustache hairs felt alien now despite the years of experience she had with them. From somewhere behind the bar at the back of the restaurant came the sound of a glass being smashed. Niko pulled back and glanced over his shoulder towards the noise.

“Oops,” he chuckled and pulled a chair out for Eve before returning to his own seat.

“It’s been a while. How are you doing?” Niko asked warmly as he passed Eve a menu.

“Good! Yeah, I’m good. Everything’s good.” Eve replied, more enthusiastically than she had expected. Why was she saying ‘good’ so much? They’re here to discuss divorce. Stop saying everything’s good.

“I… Uh. Yeah. And you? How’s… things?” Eve stammered. Jesus, she was not in the right frame of mind for this meal. Niko chuckled again.

“It’s OK, Eve. This is weird, but we’ll get used to it. I hope we can be friends through this.”

“Of course. Yes. We can, I want that too.”

“I’m glad. And in answer to your question, everything is… good.” Niko smiled at her, clearly taking glee in repeating Eve’s new favourite word. Why was it that she fell for the ones that liked to mock her? A psychologist would surely have a field day with that.

“Oh ha ha.” Eve replied sardonically. She averted her eyes and perused the menu instead. She knew it almost by heart; it too hadn’t changed in years.

“Good evening, can I start you off with some drinks?” Eve was aware of the waitress’s voice – polite, with a slight northern twang – as she continued to study the menu and tried to remember what she had had the last time they were here.

“Oh, I’m sure Eve will want a large glass of something, as usual.” Niko replied.

Eve looked up at the mention of her name.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll take a glass of the—” The boulder was back. But now it was in her chest and there was barely space for it, it was pushing at her ribs, threatening to crack each and every one of them on its way out.

The waitress waited with an expectant expression and her small pencil poised above her notepad. She wore a freshly pressed white shirt, a thin black tie and spotless cropped black trousers. Her hair was dark brown, pinned neatly at one side and with a thick fringe. But she was, unmistakably, Villanelle.

Eve stared at her and Villanelle stared back.

“Eve?” Niko asked, glancing at the waitress and then reaching out and touching Eve’s arm. “Are you alright?”

There was a small sound of a pencil lead snapping and Eve caught sight of Villanelle’s eyes locked onto the point of contact between her own arm and Niko’s large warm hand.

“Of course!” Eve blurted, pulling her arm out of his reach. “I’ll take a glass of the house red. A large glass. Thanks.”

Villanelle smiled sweetly and made a show of noting the order down on her pad, despite the fact that the pencil was now definitely lead-less at the tip.

“And for you, sir?” She turned to Niko and the smile she had flashed at Eve remained but no longer reached her eyes.

“I’ll take a sauvignon blanc, thanks. Just a small glass for me though. I’ve spent years trying, but I’ll never be able to keep up with this one.” He nodded towards Eve and laughed.

“I don’t doubt that,” Villanelle muttered. Eve’s eyes widened almost comically.

“Sorry?” Niko looked genuinely perplexed.

“One large house red and one small sauvignon blanc. I’ll be right back.” That sickly smile returned and Villanelle reached to gently take the wine list from Niko’s outstretched hand before disappearing to gather their drinks

“I don’t recognise her,” Niko said conversationally, “She must be new here.”

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.” Eve nodded, and Niko furrowed his brow at that somewhat extreme reply. Eve needed to keep her cool she realised. Villanelle might think this is a fun new way to fuck with her but Niko _had_ _met_ Villanelle. Briefly, sure, but he saw her in the flesh. He would probably be able to pick her out of a line up if pressed. Eve needed for it not to come to that. Niko also thought Villanelle was dead. He just said he didn’t recognise their waitress. This could be alright as long as Eve doesn’t draw attention to her. Eve does not need Niko to figure this out and go running off to the MI6. God, this was a sick game. Even by Villanelle’s standards.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Niko asked.

“Calmly.” Eve said quickly, “Nicely.” She continued. “Do you want the house?”

Niko laughed.

“It’s that simple? It was such a momentous occasion when we bought it together and now you can offer it up over breadsticks.”

“Well, no, it—”

“I guess chasing a psychotic lesbian assassin across Europe really puts things in perspective, huh?”

“OK, one house red.” Villanelle appeared once again at the table. Eve hoped she hadn’t heard Niko’s comment, but knowing her luck she had. If she did, she made no sign of it. Villanelle placed the glass down to the side of Eve’s place setting and Eve pulled her hands off of the table and put them in her lap, out of Villanelle’s way to avoid any accidental contact. Villanelle glanced at her with a flash of hurt as she crossed to the other side of the table.

“And one sauvignon blanc.” She leant over Niko far more than was necessary and pressed herself into his side momentarily, a breast brushing his shoulder as she placed his glass down.

“Oops, sorry.” She laughed, placing a hand on his arm as she straightened up.

“Um… Not to worry.” Niko replied and shifted away from Villanelle, raising his eyebrows at Eve across the table. Eve missed his look though as her eyes were glued disbelievingly to Villanelle’s innocent expression.

“Are you ready to order?” She asked. That accent was good. It was subtle. Not full blown northern, just the remnants that someone who was born up north but had been living in London for some time might be left with. Eve would be impressed if she wasn’t livid.

“I need to pop to the loo. Niko, can you order my usual please?” Eve asked, standing abruptly from the table.

“Ah, yeah. Sure. I—” But Eve was striding towards the toilets at the side of the restaurant before he could finish his sentence. She didn’t have a usual order, she liked to change things up, but Niko could think of something surely. He knew her well enough to pick something she would enjoy.

  
 

Eve splashed cold water onto her cheeks and looked at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, angry. She had to regain her composure before she could go back out there. She turned the cold tap on and let it run until it was icy, then shoved her wrist under it. The quickest way to cool her body temperature. The door to the bathroom swung open and Villanelle strolled in.

“He ordered you the beef. Idiot.” Her own accent was back and her posture had returned to normal too. It wasn’t the prim and proper straight-backed waitress now. Eve span around, flicking water across the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.

“Being a waitress.”

“You’re not a fucking waitress though, are you?”

“I did three weeks of catering training.”

“No you didn’t!” Eve practically shouted and then glanced anxiously at the door and lowered her voice. “You did not.”

“Fine. I didn’t like the idea of you having dinner with that man. So here I am.” Villanelle shrugged as though this was the sort of logical thing that anybody in her position would do.

“How is this the solution to that??” Eve was hissing again, “You should have fucking talked to me last night instead pretending to be asleep like a fucking child!”

“I am not a child, Eve. You know this.” Villanelle smirked and started to sidle towards Eve swaying her hips exaggeratedly.

“You’re behaving like one. This is insane behaviour.” Eve backed away towards the sink. The door opened again and a teenaged girl walked in. The door shut behind her and she looked between the other two occupants of the room before scurrying quickly into a cubicle and pulling the door closed behind her.

Eve turned back to sink. She pulled a lipstick from her purse and began applying it. In the mirror she saw Villanelle appear next to her and start to lift a hand towards her face, moving to stroke her cheek. Eve shoved her hand away and Villanelle hastily took a step back. Eve pulled the clasp from her hair and allowed it to fall around her shoulders, she shook it out a bit and Villanelle watched closely.

Eve nodded at herself in the mirror and made to leave the room.

“Wear it up.” Villanelle said, her waitress accent back in action for the benefit of the girl in the cubicle.

Eve ignored her and walked back into the restaurant. It was petty, she knew, to taunt Villanelle with her hair like that. To make herself look exactly how she knew Villanelle liked her the most and then have dinner with her husband. It wasn’t the most mature move, especially after she had accused Villanelle of being childish. But there was having a sly dig at someone, and then there was posing as a waitress and crashing a dinner. The two were miles apart.  
  
  
  


Eve returned to the table and Niko gave her the kind of silent, ‘everything alright?’ look that couples master after spending years together.

“All fine.” Eve forced a smile and grabbed the glass of wine in front of her, taking a generous gulp. It wasn’t the house red, that was for sure. This was something much more expensive tasting. If Eve had to guess she would say it was a pricey Malbec. Her favourite choice. Eve resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Niko cleared his throat.

“I don’t want the house. I am happier where I am now, but if you want it, you could… I don’t know, you could buy me out of it? Or we could just sell it together?”

“I’ll buy you out.” Eve said quickly. MI6 paid her well for her silence and fairly well for her daily boredom at her desk too.

“That was easier than I expected.” Niko smiled.

“I love that house.”

“I know.” Niko’s smile turned sad at the edges and Eve was anxious to move the conversation away from any kind of sadness. She didn’t need their chirpy yet murdery waitress for the evening blustering into a heart felt nostalgia trip.

“Joint accounts. What about them?” Eve asked, taking another glug of her wine.

“Oh, I don’t know. Can we just take out what we each put in and close them? Can it be that simple?” Niko asked.

“I’d hope so but probably not. We could leave that to solicitors?”

“Yes, we’ll have to give them something to do.” Niko joked. “You’re looking good, Eve. You seem… better.”

“The beef?” Villanelle was back.

“I… Yes, that’s me.” Eve said and leant back from the table to give Villanelle space to put the plate in front of her.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” Villanelle said, and it was polite to anyone other than Eve who could hear the undertone that said, ‘You won’t like it at all.’

“And the linguini is for you, sir. A very good choice.” Villanelle cooed at Niko as she placed his plate down.

“Thanks,” said Eve loudly.

“Not at all,” Villanelle replied pleasantly. “And can I just say what a happy couple you look like?” she took a step back and looked between Niko and Eve smiling serenely.

Eve’s blood, which had been simmering steadily since she had first caught sight of their ‘waitress’, had now begun to boil and she could feel it bubbling fiercely in her veins. What the fuck was Villanelle playing at?

“Oh no, we’re not—” Niko began.

“How nice of you to say!” Eve gushed, “Isn’t that nice of her to point out… _Darling_?” she said to Niko who looked bewildered for a moment until Eve kicked him under the table. Two could play at this sick game, after all.

“Yes. Very nice. Thank-you.” He said to Villanelle whilst shooting a look at Eve who just smiled wildly at the other woman. Villanelle smiled back though Eve was aware of her fists clenched tightly at her sides, no doubt near to drawing blood with her nails.

“Yes. Thank-you… What’s your name?” Eve enquired

“Helena.” Villanelle replied as quickly and confidently as though it had been her name all her life.

“Thank-you, Helena. We’re _very_ happy together.” Eve finished before turning her gaze from Villanelle altogether and fixing it lovingly on Niko instead. She waited until she could feel that Villanelle had left their table before she let out a laugh.

“Sorry! It just seemed easier than explaining.”

Niko looked unconvinced, but didn’t press the matter.

“How’s the bridge club getting on?” Eve asked, attempting to swiftly steer the conversation on. She took a bite of her dinner. It was rich and heavy and not something she would have chosen at all.

“It’s going well, yes. A couple of our groups have reached the championships again, so we’ll be off to Birmingham for those in a few weeks…” He carried on for a while and Eve really did try to listen but God, had he always been this dull? She supposed he had been, but maybe she used to be equally dull. She found herself nodding along with whatever he was saying and looking up to scan the restaurant. Her eyes locked on Villanelle’s. She had already been looking at Eve, standing behind the bar at the back and polishing a wine glass more rigorously than might be advisable. Eve knew that Villanelle was not your average person; she loved that about her, usually. But this evening, this ridiculous display of jealousy, well, Eve just didn’t know what to do with this. The part of Eve that studied the psyches of criminals wanted to congratulate the other woman on pulling off this caper so seamlessly. She wanted to ask Villanelle how she had managed to find out where Eve would be and at what time and how she secured herself a last minute shift here and made sure to be the one serving her table. She wanted to be proud of her for that flawless accent. But there was another side of Eve now. There was the side that, against all better judgement, was making a life with Villanelle, who wanted to be able to share things with her, everything really. She wanted to trust her and confide in her and feel that that trust was returned. And that part of Eve was devastated by Villanelle’s latest performance. She was raging.

Eve broke eye contact with Villanelle and reached across the table, she flicked a speck of nothing from Niko’s moustache and he immediately stopped saying whatever it was he had been saying.

“You had a crumb. Sorry. Force of habit.” Eve explained. Behind the bar another glass met its shattered end.

“You’ll have to get the crumbs out of your own moustache now,” Eve laughed though she wasn’t sure that what she said was funny.

“Actually, Eve, I wanted to tell you something—”

“Is everything alright with your meals?” Villanelle was by Eve’s shoulder as though she had materialised out of thin air. Behind her back and out of sight she held a napkin to the bloodied cut on her hand that had recently been home to a large shard of wine glass.

“It’s fine,” Eve enthused quite loudly, “But we’re nearly finished, can we get the bill please, Helena?”

Villanelle opened her mouth to reply.

“You don’t want coffee?” Niko asked Eve. They always used to round off the meal with a coffee.

“No. You said you wanted to tell me something. It sounded important, so let’s finish this with drinks at that pub we like, shall we?”

“OK… If you want to.” Niko replied slowly.

“Good. The bill please, Helena?” Eve looked up at Villanelle and kept her gaze on her, silently challenging her to try and stop them from leaving.

“Certainly.” Villanelle said through gritted teeth though still maintaining a professional smile and then headed back to the bar to prepare the bill.

“I’m seeing someone.” Niko said quietly once ‘Helena’ had left. Eve had been in the middle of throwing back the last mouthful of her wine, and just managed to stop herself from choking.

“Great! Oh, Niko, that’s fantastic news. I am so happy for you.” Eve said excitedly. And she was surprised to find she was being entirely genuine. She hadn’t expected to be thrilled if and when Niko moved on, but that was unfair. She had moved on. She had ended their relationship. If she hadn’t then they would still be together. But that wouldn’t be right for either of them, and now Niko had a chance to find someone who could love him in a way that Eve no longer could.

“Really?” Niko asked, a little sceptical, and perhaps just a tiny bit hurt by Eve’s immediate enthusiasm at his new relationship.

“Yes. Really.” Eve took a hold of Niko’s hand where it rested on the table. “I want you to be happy,” she said, shaking his hand slightly and smiling at him warmly.

“Your bill.” A small silver tray with their bill was slammed down onto the table next to their joined hands. Eve moved to grab it but Niko kept hold of her hand for a moment, ignoring both the bill and the waitress who looked ready to set the place on fire.

“Thank-you, Eve. That means a lot.” Niko said sincerely.

“Sure.”

Eve tugged her hand free and reached for the bill, but Niko was quicker.

“A-ha!" he sad, snatching up the bill, "Dinner’s on me.” He made a show of unfolding the paper and hiding the total from Eve before handing his card to Villanelle who rolled her eyes.

Eve glanced at Villanelle. Her professionalism was slipping and Eve could see her clenched jaw tighten at Niko’s behaviour. She tore the receipt from the card machine too quickly and it ripped almost in half, but she handed it to Niko anyway.

“Done!” He declared, “You can leave the tip for Helena.” He said to Eve as a compromise.

“Oh, I’ve got a tip for Helena.” Eve muttered as Niko came around the table to help her into her coat before donning his own jacket. He didn’t notice or at least didn’t mention her tone and smiled his thanks at their waitress.

“Right then, to the pub!” Niko put his arm around Eve’s shoulders in a friendly manner as they made their way out of the restaurant and it took every ounce of strength Eve had not to turn around to witness Villanelle’s reaction.

They were outside on the street before the wet crunching sound of a whole bottle of wine colliding with the tiled restaurant floor could reach them.


	3. D.A.R.L.I.N.G

Villanelle had crashed out of the restaurant. The shift manager had attempted to fire her after she had thrown that bottle of wine at the floor, but it turns out you can’t fire someone who isn’t on the payroll. It was an expensive bottle of wine too, with only one large glass of it missing. Villanelle had selected it especially for Eve because she loved her and she knew what she would like. That man, _that fucking moustache_ , had chosen the beef for Eve. He didn’t know her at all. Who could be married to Eve Polastri for fifteen years and not know what to order for her? Fucking fool. What Villanelle wouldn’t give to braise him just like that shitty beef.

The things she longed to do to him fizzed and crackled within her for the whole tube journey back to Eve’s house. Her thoughts were coming quick and scrambled, in a jumble of languages and flashes of images. His hand on her arm. His arm around her shoulders. Eve reaching across and touching his face. That one had hurt the most. Villanelle could have vaulted the bar and ripped that moustache clean off his face, taking the flesh with it.

Villanelle erupted from the train as soon as the doors opened and leapt up the escalator, two steps at a time, out of the tube station, she was nearly home. She was hyperventilating. But it wasn’t from the physical exertion. She was fit enough to race up and down those escalators for hours.

Russian, she realised. She was thinking only in Russian now. She hated this language. She hadn’t had such violent thoughts spurting through her head since she was much younger. Since Max. The memory sent a rush of pleasure through Villanelle and she exhaled breathily as she turned the corner onto Eve’s road. Her eyes closed fleetingly and she saw his face. She remembered the desperate fear in his eyes and the slick warmth of his blood on her bare hands. Her breathing began to slow and the pace of her steps on the pavement eased. She had watched the life ebb out of him in the same way that his blood had soaked into the quilt beneath him on the bed. It had been her second kill but the first time she had stayed and watched like that. It had satisfied something inside her and pacified the inner rage that had been writhing and surging just beneath her skin for almost as long as she could remember.

By the time she arrived at the house, her heartbeat was back under control. She fished the house key from her pocket and remembered when Eve had given it to her.

‘How sweet,’ she had teased, ‘You are asking me to live with you.’

‘I didn’t realise I had to ask,’ Eve had replied, ‘You seem to have moved in of your own accord.’

At the time Villanelle had feigned a sort of indifference to the key, as though Eve had presented it to her out of pure practicality. But it was more than that and they both knew it. Villanelle frequently found that she was rubbing her thumb along its shiny length absently when she was out and about. She’d had keys before, of course, she’d had places of her own after all. But replicas of those keys were in the pockets of her handlers, and those places were paid for by mysterious men she would never meet. She was kept. Stored away out of sight, like a gun in a glove compartment. Ready to be taken out and used when necessary.

Eve had given her a key to _her_ home. It said that she was welcome there, that she could belong, that she was free to leave but able to come back and that thought had burst within Villanelle and spread affection right to her extremities.

She used her key now and let herself in before dropping it into the bowl on the hall table next to Eve’s car keys. But Eve’s house keys were missing. Because Eve was at the pub. With her husband. Villanelle clenched her fist and then stretched it out with a wince. There were small half moon marks on her palm from where she had been channelling her anger all evening. And on the back of her hand was a large, angry looking gash, red and weeping at the edges. She had smashed a wine glass whilst her hand was inside it, polishing it to within an inch of its life. Well, actually she polished it to the end of its life. But she paid a price too. That cut was sore and would need covering before infection could add to her discomfort. If Eve was here, she would bandage it for her. But Villanelle could do it herself.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Villanelle was in the kitchen. She had changed out of her waitressing uniform. The shirt had been blood stained from the wound on her hand and had to be thrown out. Villanelle didn’t have the patience for stain removal. If she did, then she would spend her entire life dealing with bloodstains. She was wearing deceptively expensive loungewear in a soft dove grey tone. Her hair was loose and back to its honey colour. The brunette wig had been lovingly brushed and placed back its box – finding a shop that made them that good hadn’t been easy at short notice. And her hand was bandaged securely. She was a pro at patching herself up.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for Eve. Surely she wouldn’t be long. She would be bored of that man in no time, and then she would come home to Villanelle, where she belonged. Villanelle was no idiot, she knew Eve was angry with her, but she would get over it. And Villanelle had just as much reason to be angry with Eve. Villanelle had merely gone along to dinner. She could have done a lot worse in the circumstances. For example, she didn’t castrate anyone. Surely Eve would be grateful for that.

Eve going for dinner with The Moustache was insulting to Villanelle. When Eve had told her of the plan, she had been shocked. She didn’t know what to say, and she _always_ knew what to say. There had been a constricted feeling in her chest that she couldn’t identify. And a sensation that swooped in her stomach, but it wasn’t like that nice swooping that occurred when she knew she was about to fuck or be fucked. This swooping was icy cold, sudden and then gone. But the tautness in her chest remained. It felt a bit like when Konstantin threw that log in her face, or when Eve thrust that knife into her gut. Only it was in her chest, and nobody had been violent. It had taken several sleepless hours until she realised she was hurt.

Eve shouldn’t _want_ to have dinner with him. She had Villanelle. Was Villanelle not enough? How could that be true? Villanelle loved Eve. She made her laugh, she made her come, she made her dinner. Is that not all that mattered? What more was there?

Eve had said she had history with him. Villanelle couldn’t offer her that. Not yet anyway. But what if he wanted her back? What if Eve realised that being with Villanelle _wasn’t_ enough. It was no secret that Villanelle’s job was an issue between them and no clear solution had been reached on that. Eve said she was going to discuss her divorce, but what if in the process of doing so, she realised that she missed that man? Villanelle had to be there. She had to make sure that Eve remembered what she had now.

By the time dawn had crept over the London rooftops, Villanelle had planned out her entire debut into waitressing. Eve would see how clever Villanelle was. She would see how much she loved Eve through the lengths she was willing to go to in order to protect what they had. It was a perfect plan.

But Eve had let him touch her. Had been smiling and laughing with him. She was upset with Villanelle and she had called him ‘Darling’. Villanelle was Darling, not him. She could have spat fire when she heard that word drop from Eve’s lips so casually, so callously. That had hurt. She knew what the tightening in her chest meant now, and what was worse was that Eve did it on purpose. She called him ‘Darling’ because she _knew_ it would hurt Villanelle. Sometimes you can stab someone without a knife.

But it would be OK. Eve would come home. She would be angry and Villanelle would explain herself and ask Eve not to hurt her like that again. And then they would probably have sex. Perhaps they would be so spurred on by their argument that they wouldn’t even make it to their bed. They hadn’t had sex on the stairs yet, or against the wall in the hallway. That would be nice. Villanelle would love to take Eve up against the wall like that. She would make her forget her husband in no time. Or maybe she’d take her time and—

The front door slammed and Villanelle sat up straight at the kitchen table. She knew how this conversation would go now. She had planned it. She waited for Eve to come into the kitchen. She heard the metallic clinking of her house keys joining Villanelle’s in the bowl and the double clunk of her shoes hitting the wood floors and then… footsteps on the stairs. Eve was going up stairs even though she must know that Villanelle was in the kitchen. She must have seen that the light was on. Villanelle shot out of the door and into the hallway. Eve was halfway up the stairs.

“Eve!” She called and Eve stopped but did not turn around.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t even want to _look_ at you right now.” She seethed through her teeth.

Well, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say. But Villanelle knew Eve would be mad still. Villanelle would just have to apologise first.

“Sorry baby.” She said, aiming for sincerity.

Eve span around on the spot and glared at Villanelle.

“ _Sorry baby_? Are you though? Do you even know that what you did was fucked up? Or was it just a fun little game for you?”

“No, I—”

“Do you have the slightest clue how it feels to know that you have so little faith in me that you just _had_ to come along to that dinner? You just _had_  to keep an eye on me?”

“I didn’t want you to go back to him.”

“We were discussing our divorce!!” Eve roared, taking a few steps down the stairs towards Villanelle.

“Jesus Villanelle! You can’t just insert yourself into things like that. Playing dress up? That fucking accent? I am not one of your targets! What you did tonight was the behaviour of a psychopath.”

“I am a psychopath!” Villanelle yelled, loosing the cool that she had talked herself into.

“But you see,” Eve said, taking another step towards Villanelle, “I have studied psychopaths and I have studied you and maybe I was just fucking deluding myself but up until tonight I wasn’t convinced that you truly were one.”

“And now?” Villanelle had dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. No one had ever told her she _wasn’t_ a psychopath before.

“And now,” Eve sighed, “I’m going to bed.” Eve turned and made to take a step up the stairs. Villanelle rushed to where she was and grabbed her arm.

“No, don’t. I am sorry. I get it.” Villanelle was staring pleadingly at Eve. She was a couple of steps below her and the height reversal was making this conversation as disparate as the whole evening had been. Eve looked down into Villanelle’s eyes with no emotion other than weariness. Villanelle was confused. This wasn’t how their conversation was supposed to go at all. It was supposed to be sorted by now and they should fucking on the stairs, not fighting.

“Why am I upset with you, Villanelle?” Eve asked plainly.

“Because I am not a waitress.” Villanelle looked down at the step she was standing on.

Eve threw her head back and sighed.

“I am upset because you turning up at the restaurant like that proves that you don’t trust me. It shows that you don’t trust this…” Eve let out a humourless chuckle as she waved her arms about, gesturing between the two of them and shaking off Villanelle’s hand in the process, “…this _relationship_ that we have. And that… that makes me think that I don’t know if I can do this.”

Villanelle looked panicked.

“That is not true! I did it because I want to keep you, because I love you. You _can_ do this. You love me as well, I know that you do.”

Eve ignored that.

“Do you understand what would have happened if Niko had realised who you were? Do you see that what you did wasn’t protecting what we have, it was jeopardising it?”

“I don’t get caught.” Villanelle scoffed.

“Goodnight Villanelle.” Eve took a step up the stairs.

“I will go to bed now too.” Villanelle made to follow her, but Eve put a hand on her chest.

“No. You can sleep on the sofa.”

 

The sofa was shitty. It didn’t take Villanelle long to decide that. Her shoulders ached and her feet were hanging over the armrest, her body too long to be comfortable here. And it was cold. Eve was a warm sleeper and usually Villanelle would wrap the other woman up in her arms and sleep peacefully, contentedly, hardly ever wracked with the dreams that used to visit her in Paris and before that.

There was no sleep to be found on this shitty sofa though. And the blanket she had pulled from the cupboard was thin and nowhere near as warm as Eve’s bed, where Eve was, without her.

Villanelle sat up and stretched. This day had not worked out how she had planned it. Normally her plans off went without a hitch. She would learn the behaviour of whoever she was working with and then she would orchestrate her hit accordingly. But Eve was right earlier when she had said she was not one of Villanelle’s targets. She didn’t know what Eve was. The previous night, before everything had gone wrong, Villanelle had asked Eve exactly that question. She had hoped that Eve would know what to call this thing. How to label the way they felt about each other.

Villanelle had Anna before, but Anna had Max…. until she didn’t. Villanelle and Anna had not been a couple though, they were student and teacher. Sort of. Though sometimes those roles would reverse. In the bedroom, for example. Villanelle had boyfriends, like Sebastian. He had been nice. He cared about her. She hadn’t enjoyed sex with him though and he had never made her come. She’d had to go back to her own apartment and sink her hand into her underwear to thoughts of women with hair like Anna’s.

And Eve Polastri? She loved Eve. And she _knew_ that Eve felt the same about her. Villanelle had wanted Eve to tell her that they were a couple, a team, a partnership, but Eve had told her about the divorce instead.

Villanelle stood up from the sofa. Her bare feet were cold on the floor. The heating wasn’t on overnight and drafts crept up through the gaps in the floorboards. She was hungry. She had skipped dinner. The other staff at the restaurant had been picking at bits of garlic bread in the kitchen between orders, but Villanelle had been focused on the job at hand. She padded through to Eve’s kitchen and stuck some bread in the toaster, grabbing a jar of honey from one of the cupboards. She leant against the counter as the toaster did its thing and stuck her finger into the honey jar while she waited, whirling it around a bit before pulling it out and sticking it into her mouth.

“Oh.”

Villanelle looked up, finger still in her mouth, and saw Eve standing in the doorway. She wore the silk pyjamas that Villanelle had bought her and her hair was a mess.

“I just needed a glass of water.” Eve mumbled.

Villanelle nodded and pulled her finger from her mouth, sliding the honey jar back onto the counter and gesturing to the sink. Eve shuffled past her and plucked a glass from the draining board.

“You could not sleep either?” Villanelle asked quietly, a hint of hope in her voice.

“No.” Eve sighed. “I guess not.”

The toast leapt out of the toaster behind Villanelle and filled the air with its comforting smell. Villanelle plucked both pieces out and smothered them with honey as Eve gulped down a glass of water at the sink.

“Would you like some toast?”

Eve glanced at the red digital clock on the microwave.

“It’s 02.39 in the morning.”

“I missed dinner.” Villanelle shrugged. Eve let out a tired laugh.

“OK. I’ll have some toast.”

“The honey is very good.”

“So I see. Half of it is on your chin.”

Villanelle wiped her chin with her hand, rubbing the honey remnants into the bandage she had forgotten about. Eve was in front of her before Villanelle even noticed her move and she felt a hand grab her wrist. Eve was examining the bandage. A brownish smudge of dried blood could be seen through it now. Villanelle would need to change the bandage before she went back to the sofa.

“What happened here?”

“I broke a glass. At the restaurant.”

“Ah.”

Eve leant up past Villanelle and reached a box down from the kitchen cupboard. It was the box where the bandages were kept. She took a hold of Villanelle’s elbow and urged her towards a seat at the kitchen table before grabbing the plate of toast from the counter and placing that on the table too. Eve sat down opposite Villanelle and beckoned for her hand, which was freely given.

“You were right earlier, you know?” Eve asked, tearing the scrap of surgical tape from Villanelle’s hand and beginning to unravel the bandage without looking up at Villanelle. “I do love you. But… you can’t do things like this. When things ended between Niko and I, I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, but I knew that I couldn’t be with him when everything about me was consumed by you. There was no space for anyone else. And there still isn’t. But when you do things like tonight… scaring me like that, it makes this so difficult, Oksana.”

Villanelle could feel a prickling in her eyes, her vision was blurring slightly as she watched Eve uncover the wound on her hand and begin to dab it with disinfectant. It stung. But the stinging in her eyes was worse.

“I knew it was going to be difficult,” Eve continued, “Jesus, nothing about us is easy. I just knew it was worth it. Having you here with me, it’s worth everything I have lost or given up along the way. You add so much to my life. I can’t recognise the woman who married Niko. And then… tonight. You don’t trust me.”

“I do!” Villanelle cut in, her voice cracking.

“I know that you _think_ you do.” Eve replied, pulling an absorbent patch from the box in front of her and cutting it down to fit Villanelle’s hand. “I need you to trust us at least. I don’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose me. You have to talk to me rather than concocting these insane schemes. This is new for you, and I realise that. I should have tried harder to get you to talk to me about it last night. But if this is going to work—”

“It is going to work.”

“ _If_ it’s going to work, and I want it to, then you have to trust me and you have to talk to me. OK?”

“OK.” Villanelle whispered and nodded. Eve finished wrapping the fresh bandage around Villanelle’s hand and secured it with a strip of tape.

“There.” Eve said, giving Villanelle her hand back. Villanelle caught hold of Eve’s own hand before she could fully let go.

“Eve.” Villanelle said urging the other woman to look at her, “Are we… a couple?”

Eve let out a bark of surprised laughter and then reined herself in when she caught sight of the rare vulnerability on Villanelle’s face. They lived together, slept together, loved each other. What the hell else would they be? Eve had struggled to find the right word to describe their relationship, but she at least knew they were in one. God, they really needed to communicate better.

“Yes, Oksana. Against all better judgement, we are a couple.”

Villanelle beamed.

“Now hurry up and eat your toast, I want to go to bed.” Eve said, standing to dispose of the bloodied bandage.

Villanelle quirked an eyebrow at Eve suggestively.

“To sleep!” Eve insisted. “Surely you can’t go two nights in a row without sleeping.”

“No. Sleep is very important, Eve.” Villanelle said knowingly, “But so is an active sex life.” She added with her signature smirk and ripped a large bite out of her slice of toast.


End file.
